The Musician
by falafel-fiction
Summary: FF story. Sayid is given another target to assassinate. He is shocked when his latest victim turns out to be an old friend from the island...a friend who he believed was already dead.


**The Musician **

**Synopsis:** FF story. Sayid is given another target to assassinate. He is shocked when his latest victim turns out to be an old friend from the island...a friend who he believed was already dead. 

**Characters:** Sayid, Charlie, mentions of Ben.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lost.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for eps 1 and 3 of S4.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Author's Note: **Yeah, I know. I'm supposed to be retired. I'm not sure I even count myself a Lost fan anymore. I've only seen the Sayid episode and the Hurley/Charlie scene so far from S4. Surprisingly they have coupled up and given birth to this little ficlet. It came to me in a Desmond style flash. I found I couldn't resist writing it.

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Ben had not given him a name this time. Usually Sayid was provided with names even if it was only for formality's sake and the accuracy of his kills. But for his next mission Ben had only given him an address and a code name. He would only refer to their latest target as 'the musician'.

Sayid sat in the cafe across the street from the appartment block. He held a cold mug of black coffee between his palms. He feared he might be sick if he brought it to his lips. The building he was looking at was poor accommodation on the rough outskirts of the city. For the last hour or more Sayid had been watching its dwellers pass in and out of its battered paint-flecked doors. The people living in this building were mostly young and scruffy in appearance. Many of them were students, Sayid imagined, or creative types struggling to earn a living through their art.

They all seemed perfectly innocent and harmless...

Sayid squirmed in his seat, causing his coffee cup to rattle in its saucer. For the most part his previous targets had been rich suited business men, middle aged and expressionless. Sayid often found himself looking for a glint of corruption in these men's eyes. When he saw it, he found it easier to pull the trigger. But at night he would still lay awake in restless torment, wondering if those men had wives and children.

Sayid rubbed his temples, his eyes fixed on the doorway across the street. He was trying to picture this musician in his head. He was imagining a simple busker who played his instrument for pocket change on street corners and in downtown bars. Why would Ben require the murder of such a man? The question was clawing at Sayid's conscience. He knew that he wasn't supposed to ask these questions. He was supposed to do as Ben told him and protect his friends. But even so Sayid knew he would need a reason this time. If Ben wouldn't tell him, then Sayid decided he would have to get an answer out of the musician before he went ahead with his orders.

Sayid looked down at his wrist watch. It was past 11 o'clock now. He had promised to meet with his boss by noon. There was no more time to postpone his grim duty. Ben had hardly allowed him any time at all to complete this mission. He was clearly wanting a quick efficient kill with no words passed between the target and his assassin. All these factors made Sayid very hesitant and suspicious. Ben wasn't usually so hasty. He often liked to glean information from their victims first. But something about this musician seemed to disturb him. When Ben had been giving him his instructions, Sayid had the impression that he wouldn't be at ease until this man was eliminated.

Sayid rose from his chair and left the cafe. He quickly crossed the road and approached the front door of the appartment building. Its lock was broken and so was its buzzer. He slipped inside and climbed the stairs to the second floor. He had been told that the musician lived in Room 23. Sayid wasted no time picking the lock. He slipped into the appartment softly as a shadow.

The living room was small and sparsely decorated. There was CD player in the corner which was gently humming with the music of a Beatles album. A shabby old couch was positioned in the centre of the room. There was a black leather jacket thrown over the arm of the sofa and an acoustic guitar propped up against its pillows. The shiny red body of the instrument was emblazoned with stickers, one of which bore the message _"I was here moments ago..."_

There came a bubbling noise. The sound of water coming to the boil...

Sayid glanced through a doorway on his right. The musician was standing in the kitchen area with his back turned to him as he poured water from the kettle into a large yellow mug. He looked to be a fairly young man with a small narrow build and cropped brown hair. He was dressed in jeans and a purple T-shirt. Sayid took the gun from his pocket and raised it until it was level with the man's neck. It would have been all too easy for him to put a bullet in his victim now and make a swift exit through the fire escape. But Sayid would not shoot a man in the back.

"Freeze..." he commanded, his voice blunt and steady.

The musician had been raising the yellow cup to his lips. The drink wobbled momentarily in his hands as he flinched and tensed his shoulders. But he managed to keep himself still. "Raise your hands and turn around slowly," Sayid instructed.

"Err...okay," the musician murmured.

Sayid did not recognise his voice. It wasn't until the musician started to turn...it wasn't until he caught a glimpse of his face that he realised who it was...

Sayid couldn't believe it. He felt the strength and precision draining from his body. His jaw fell open and his eyes widened in disbelief. He knew the face of the man standing before him. He knew his face very well... though he hadn't ever expected to see it again.

It was Charlie's face. His eyes were startled, but his mouth was grinning.

"Hey Sayid!" he greeted. Charlie's voice was remarkably affable for a man with a gun being pointed at him. "Don't shoot, okay. I'm armed with nothing but noodle soup here..."

Charlie lifted the fork from his mug and waved the dripping strands of spaggetti like a white flag. Sayid felt his breath coming in short sharp bursts. His hands were shaking. His sweat moistened his gun.

"I promise the noodles won't hurt you..." Charlie added with a reassuring wink.

Charlie blew on his fork and popped the noodles into his mouth, still smiling as he chewed. Sayid continued to stare at him in staggered amazement, his mouth lolling open and his arms slowly beginning to droop.

"Fancy a cuppa?" Charlie asked him brightly.

With a perplexing lack of fear, Charlie turned his back on Sayid and his gun. He poured more of the boiled water from the kettle into a little teapot that sat on his sideboard. Then he took a step to his left and rummaged inside his fridge for a carton of milk.

"So...Ben's found out about me, huh?" Charlie asked casually. "I figured that he would find out sooner or later. I've been a little careless recently...wandering around in broad daylight...trying to have words with our friend, Hurley. I thought the haircut and the dark glasses would be a neat disguise. _Jesus_. The little bastard must have spies working for him everywhere..."

Charlie turned back to face Sayid, now holding a steaming cup of tea in a Bugs Bunny mug. In three confident strides he closed the distance between them. Charlie clasped the muzzle of the gun and took it out of Sayid's limp hand like a teacher taking a sharp pair of scissors away from a clumsy child. Sayid released a quiet gasp. He felt his eyes brimming with tears. He had never allowed anyone to disarm him so easily, nor had he ever felt so relieved at being deprived of his weapon. His empty hands were still trembling as Charlie pressed the warm mug into his palm."Drink this, mate, you'll feel better...nothing like a good cup of tea! I'll keep hold of this for the moment, yeah?" Charlie lifted the gun up before Sayid's dazed eyes, put the safety catch on it and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. "So Ben sent you to kill me, huh?"

Charlie's tone was positively breezy. It touched Sayid that he wasn't threatened by him. During his last few weeks on the island he had sensed that many of his old friends were starting to fear him, even though Sayid would never dream of hurting them. Friendship still meant something to him. Ben ought to have known that. It sickened him that Ben had sent him on this mission. How could Ben have possibly expected him to murder one of his friends from the island?

And also...why had Sayid been sent to kill a man who was already _dead_?!

"Hey, don't worry, mate," said Charlie, gently patting his shoulder. "I don't blame you. I know he's got you by the balls, the evil git. Do you know this is the second time Ben has ordered my death? What's his problem, hey? You'd think I'd poisoned his pet gerbil or something..." Sayid flinched at the solidness of Charlie's touch. Clearly this was no ghost that he was talking too. Either he was losing his mind or...could Charlie have escaped the Looking Glass? In numb movements Sayid brought the mug to his lips and took a sip of the hot sweet tea. He rarely ever drank English tea and when he did he never took it with sugar. But this drink refreshed him like an elixir. A warm feeling spread through his limbs. It was a feeling like triumph.

"Desmond told us that it was Mikhail..." Sayid answered, haltingly. "He said that he flooded the communications room with the intention of drowning you..." A satisfied smile rose on his lips. "I'm happy to see that he did not succeed, Charlie."

Charlie winced. "Oh, he succeeded alright..." he corrected in a low mutter. "But Ben didn't expect to find me here, did he? I show up in lots of places Ben doesn't expect..."

Charlie smirked mischievously to himself. Sayid shook his head, his mind dizzied with confusion. He glanced at his watch. It was drawing close to noon. He had to report to his boss.

"I...I have to leave..." he said, placing his mug on the mantlepiece.

Sayid looked again at Charlie who had flopped down on the couch and thrown his feet up on the sofa cushions while he tucked into his noodle soup.

"I'm going to tell Ben that you are dead..." Sayid said softly.

"Good idea," said Charlie with an approving nod. "In some respects you won't be lying."

Sayid frowned at him, his temples pulsing. He decided this inexplicable situation was too much for his brain to process right now. He turned on his heels and marched swiftly towards the door.

"Sayid, mate..." Charlie called after him.

He halted, glancing reluctantly over his shoulder.

"When you get the chance...come and talk to me, yeah?" Charlie suggested. "I know it's hard with Ben keeping you on leesh...but I reckon I can help you."

"You can't help me, Charlie," Sayid replied flatly. "Help the others if you can. Their circumstances are different from my own. You all need to stay away from me..."

"Just so you know...you're not alone, Sayid..." Charlie told him firmly.

Sayid raised his weary head and looked uncertainly into his friend's calm blue eyes.

"...don't pretend to be," Charlie finished with a gentle smile.

_The End_


End file.
